


leftovers of an interregnum

by rievu



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, a thought i had in my head that i just wanted to write out, too long to be called a drabble but not exactly a complete story either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 06:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16949028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rievu/pseuds/rievu
Summary: “You mentioned witches,” Jessamine says.Daud glances up at her, looking aged for just a brief moment. The weight of all the years and his employment crash down on the lines on his face, and he sighs, “The Brigmore witches. Women who use black magic to serve their mistress.” He turns the full intensity of his gaze on Jessamine and says, “Their main enemy is you, Jessamine Kaldwin. Anyone from the Kaldwin family, anyone who would protect or help the Kaldwin house. They despise you, empress, and they’re becoming active again.”// if jessamine survived the events of dishonored with the outsider's mark and hired daud as her new spymaster





	leftovers of an interregnum

**Author's Note:**

> hm, so this is a thought i had after going through my notes for my previous dishonored fic, ["long live the empress"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13510905), and i wanted to write it out. you don't need to read that fic to read this one, but just know that this is an alternate timeline where jessamine survives instead of corvo and gets the mark instead. her story was more of a low-chaos runthrough. 
> 
> this is a touch OOC for what i personally think jessamine would do, but hope you enjoy anyways!

The wind whistles past her face, and Jessamine has to resist to let out a loud whoop as she blinks through the air. The scent of roses and petrichor follows her as she leaps from rooftop to rooftop. She has a simpler mask on her face now — not the mechanical skull of yesterday — and she flies with freedom surging through her veins.

It’s been a year since the events of the coup occurred. Her city, her Parliament, and her empire settled down — or as well as they’ll ever settle down — and she goes to sleep with a touch more comfort than she used to. Her daughter is safe and sound within the Tower, and she has a new Spymaster now. She suspects that her new Spymaster will be far better than the last, but she somewhat regrets her decision.

Particularly because that exact same Spymaster is there, waiting for her, on the next rooftop.

Jessamine slows down in her flight and lands with light feet. The scent of seawater washes over her as the Void’s magic settles down around her and goes back into her Mark. “Good evening, Spymaster,” she greets in a genteel tone. “I didn’t know you were also interested in spending the evening outside. The autumn nights are quite charming and far less rainy than I expected this season to be.”

Her Spymaster glowers back at her, and his scarred, knotted face settles into the usual expression of displeasure. “You’re supposed to stay inside and sleep like a regular empress,” he grumbles. “But no, you go leaping out of windows like a mad woman.”

“Oh hush, Daud,” she replies easily. “You also blinked here, and don’t pretend like you don’t go sneaking out at night.” Jessamine makes a face at Daud because she knows he can’t see it under her mask, but based on the subtle change in his expression, she suspects that he knows.

Part of her still wonders what possessed her to offer a job to the man who killed her lover and Royal Protector, kidnapped her daughter, and nearly killed her. Now that she lists off all the things Daud has done to her in her head, it really does sound like one of the worst decisions she’s ever made. But, if she keeps her enemies closer, she can keep a more careful eye on their activities. Also, Daud is far better than Hiram ever was, and his network reaches farther and deeper than the former spymaster. If Daud ever tries to kill her or her daughter again, she will not be defenseless either. The ocean and the Void are now embedded permanently in her hand, and there is little that either of them can do about it. She smiles viciously to herself and feels the wild tug of her Mark as she flexes her fingers. Of course, the Outsider could take away the Mark but she tips her head up to the night sky — black as the whale god’s eyes — and thinks, _but will you, Outsider?_

“You have no security, no guard, no Royal Protector,” Daud grumbles as he runs a gloved hand through his hair. His red coat flaps in the wind, and the frown on his face intensifies as he speaks.

Jessamine waves her hands dismissively as she says, “I am my own Protector.”

She thinks that this is the one thing that Daud and her Parliament will ever agree on. After the initial uproar over Daud’s appointment, the matter of the Royal Protector was brought up by one simpering noble at Parliament. If Jessamine remembers correctly, that noble hoped to have his own son appointed — a general? a captain? Jessamine doesn’t care enough to remember — but Jessamine denied all requests. She would not appoint a new Royal Protector in honor of Corvo’s memory. If any assailant or assassin chose to come after her, she would have a blade and Void magic waiting for them.

Daud shakes his head and snaps, “A poor decision.”

“You seem to think that I make a great deal of poor decisions, Spymaster,” Jessamine returns. “I am capable of taking care of myself now.” She edges her hand closer to where a blade is concealed beneath her coat, and Daud tracks her movement with a practiced eye. Jessamine pulls the Void taut around her, and the air crackles with the potential energy of a thousand tricks up Jessamine’s sleeve.

Daud raises a single brow and concedes, “Fair. But have you ever considered what happens if you get caught?” He nods towards her white-gloved hand and says, “The Abbey will never tolerate it.”

“The Abbey will never find out, and that is a concern that we both share in our positions,” Jessamine says tartly. “And since when were you ever one to worry or care about what the Abbey has to say?”

Daud scowls, “I _care_ because you are my employer and you pay me a salary to keep my Whalers in business.” He gestures to Dunwall below them and continues, “Also, the damn city can’t take another coup or another ruler’s absence. Try to stay alive long enough for your daughter to take the throne at least.”

Jessamine steps to the edge of the building just enough so that her toes are past the edge of the roof. Below her, the city still thrums with a dim-lit nightlife, and she can see the flickering lights of the lampposts. This district isn’t well off, but the people living here still make the most of it in their bars and taverns. If she strains her ears, she can hear the muffled refrain of a tavern song from multiple windows of one particularly loud bar. She glances back at Daud and hums, “Correction: I pay you to be my _spymaster._ I do not explicitly order you to keep your Whalers in operation.”

Daud crosses his arms and refutes, “That is still my job description. My Whalers comprise at least half of my network.”

“We ignore that caveat then,” Jessamine says. “No assassinations unless it is for the benefit of the crown, yes?”

“You’re more than capable of pulling off your own assassinations now, Empress,” he mutters under his breath. It’s not soft enough to escape Jessamine’s ears though.

He’s right. Jessamine was the one to murder the assassin creeping through her window, and the body was found only when her maid came to wake her up. Jessamine still remembers her loud scream — more effective than any alarm clock or wake-up call — and her guards rushing to accost whatever danger her maid found. Jessamine herself simply shuffled out of bed and helped hoist the body out of her room. She had to hand her nightclothes to the laundry rooms afterwards to get rid of the bloodstains, but it wasn’t a difficult job. The same thing happened with two other assassins — one darting out of an alley to catch her rounding around the corner and the other waiting in the rafters to jump down on her — and her enemies soon learned. Empress Jessamine was not without her claws this time around, and she would not tolerate another interregnum.

“Well then, Spymaster, do you have anything to tell me?” Jessamine says with a tap of her foot. “The night is long, and I intended to spend it alone. There must be some issue grave enough for you to come chasing after me.”

Daud hesitates, and that alone catches Jessamine’s attention. Daud has never been a man to hesitate, and she doubts that he will start now. He clears his throat and says, “There’s been… News.”

“What news is newsworthy enough for you to leap from rooftop to rooftop?” Jessamine inquires. She folds her arms, waiting for his response. For a moment, there is no answer other than the breeze whipping through the night.

Daud finally relents and says, “There’s been reports of witch activity in the lower districts of Dunwall.”

“Witches?” Jessamine echoes. Her eyebrows knit together with confusion, and she doesn’t know what he’s referencing. Granny Rags? But Granny Rags was long gone and inconsequential now.

Daud’s face twists as he asks, “You don’t know who the witches are?” Jessamine’s blank expression suffices as an answer, and he turns his head to swear bitterly under his breath. “Of course, you don’t,” he growls. “You’ve never been in contact with them, never been near one of their circles or major areas of activity. You’ve never had a _reason_ to know. By the miserable Void, just my luck.”

Jessamine narrows her eyes and in a dangerous tone, she says evenly, “Daud. Do enlighten me.”

The former Knife of Dunwall casts his gaze around at the city shrouded in night before he shakes his head. “In a different place. Not here,” he insists.

“Very well,” Jessamine replies. An impish grin spreads across her lips as she says, “Back to the tower then. Let us see who gets back first.”

She steps back once, twice, and the third step makes her fall backwards off the roof. Wind and air rush around her face and buffets her body before she reaches her hand out and _pulls._ The song of the sea roars in her ears as she flings herself up in a blink. Space and time bend around her, and the sound of crashing waves follows her as she surges through the air. Material space no longer means anything for her. Her feet barely brush against the rooftops, and the scent of petrichor and roses fills her nose.

Suddenly, a large object hurtles in front of her. Jessamine barely dodges it and sees that it’s an old oil barrel that breaks into pieces when it crashes into a wall. She glances in the other direction and sees Daud with one hand ungloved and outstretched. His lips twitch, and more barrels are pulled towards her with deadly speed. Jessamine barks out a laugh as she gestures to the wind. The breeze responds by blasting air towards the barrels to knock them back.

“Two can play this game,” she mutters before she pulls her Marked hand through the air to bend time. That buys her the time she lost avoiding the barrels. In her peripheral vision, she sees Daud frozen on the rooftop before he slips into the same rhythm of time as her. He transverses across the buildings in a rougher, swirling version of her own blink, but his is a brutal sort of efficiency. They alternate turns, bending time and pulling obstacles in the other’s way.

A laugh dances its way across Jessamine’s face before she leaps off another building. The Tower is now well within distance, and she slips her hand in her pocket to brush against her Heart. It whispers, _“You are strong and wise, Empress. There is a railing, old and aged and creaking from years of use. Perhaps you can use that to your advantage.”_

Jessamine nods at the familiar voice in her ear, and she diverts her course to head directly towards Daud. He swerves to avoid her, but she trails along close enough for her coattail to brush against his hands. She hears him swear, “By the Void, a race isn’t enough for you?”

“You were the one to start using obstacles, Knife of Dunwall,” she calls back. “Is this too much for you?”

Now, Daud begins to trail her in earnest. Jessamine smiles to herself and heads towards the railing the Heart pointed out. Her feet skim the surface of the rusting metal, but she knows the rougher edges of Daud’s transverse will catch on the fragile ends of the railing. The sound of cracking metal confirms her thoughts, and she blinks to a different building just in time to avoid the fallout.

She tumbles into Daud’s office alone. Victory makes her exultant, and the wind she brings with her sends all of his papers in a flurry that later settles on the floor. She snorts at the sight and turns to see Daud land heavily behind her. Despite the force of his landing, he brings no wind with him. His grimace deepens and he swears loudly when he sees the papers. His gaze yanks back up to meet Jessamine’s, and he glares.

Jessamine tugs her mask off and flashes him a cheeky grin. She hasn’t felt this young in ages. Void magic thrums around her and makes her feel _alive._ This is why she can’t stand sitting in Parliament or going through paperwork anymore, not when she knows she could be outside doing _this._

Daud’s expression sobers when he sees Jessamine’s face, and he warns, “Don’t get too comfortable with that magic. Forgetting your limits means you lose yourself to the Void. Don’t lose that head of yours, Empress. We need it.”

“Ah,” Jessamine says. The high of her adrenaline tapers off, and she remembers Granny Rags with a distinct clarity. How her voice shook and tapered off at strange places before surging back in volume, the way her fingers constantly twitched and picked at things unseen on her own skin, and the sagging bags underneath her eyes. However, the thing that Jessamine remembers is the inhuman energy thrumming through Granny Rags’s body. The mark of Void magic. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Jessamine faintly.

“No, we don’t,” Daud affirms. He bends down to gather up his papers and places them on his desk in a mismatched stack.

“You mentioned witches,” Jessamine says.

Daud glances up at her, looking aged for just a brief moment. The weight of all the years and his employment crash down on the lines on his face, and he sighs, “The Brigmore witches. Women who use black magic to serve their mistress.” He turns the full intensity of his gaze on Jessamine and says, “Their main enemy is _you_ , Jessamine Kaldwin. Anyone from the Kaldwin family, anyone who would protect or help the Kaldwin house. They despise you, empress, and they’re becoming active again.”

Jessamine knits her brow with confusion, and she tries to piece together her thoughts out loud. “A cult that despises me? Becoming active again?” she says, her mind racing to connect pieces of an unseen puzzle. “First, why have I not heard about this before and second, does this mean they were dormant before?”

“Remember, empress, you knew almost nothing about the darker side of your city until a year ago,” Daud reminds her. “And to answer your second question, yes, they were dormant for a year.”

“A year,” Jessamine repeats. “That means they were still active during the coup.”

“Yes,” Daud says tiredly, wearily, achingly. He braces his hand against his desk for some support. “Yes, they were.”

“Then why did I never encounter them?” Jessamine asks, her voice challenging and firm. This is the voice she uses for judgements, for executions, for law and justice and government and all that she stands for.

Silence is her only answer.

Iron and steel creep into her tone as she says, “Daud. Answer me.”

The Knife of Dunwall sinks into his chair heavily, and Jessamine wonders when this knife ever dulled. Perhaps this was better. The knife of an assassin was better dulled with guilt and conscience than whetted with the lack of empathy. She knows his reputation; she prefers this more. But still, she wonders if his sharpness paid a price. She wants answers, and she doesn’t know if Daud will give them to her.

He folds his hands together and wearily says, “My Whalers and I clashed with them. Frequently.” He pauses to choose his words carefully. “One of the reasons why I couldn’t go after you and finish the damn job I fucked up.”

Jessamine presses her lips into a thin line and only asks, “Why?”

That’s a question she finds herself asking frequently now.

"We make our choices, and take what comes,” Daud says. His eyes flutter open and he pins her with an unreadable gaze. “And sooner or later, in ways we can't always fathom, the consequences come back to us"

“That isn’t an answer.”

“That’s the most of an answer I’ll give you.”

Jessamine lets out a huff of breath, frustration shaking her limbs and making her feet pace back and forth in Daud’s office. “What are you planning to do about this cult then?” she presses. “These… Brigmore witches.”

“What I do best,” Daud says simply.

Jessamine hates answers like those. She wants clarifications, a complete report, every detail in every step. It’s an attitude she’s developed after the interregnum. Hiram taught her — perhaps, too well — the necessity for detail. “Do you require assistance?” she asks, probing for more potential facts. “Resources? Aid?”

Her spymaster shakes his head. “No, I have my Whalers.”

Jessamine stops then and asks, “Then what shall I do?”

“What do you mean?” Daud sputters.

Jessamine folds her hands across her chest and snaps, “Did you really plan to just tell me this and expect me to do nothing about it?”

Daud rises up out of his seat and surges forward to grab Jessamine by her lapels. His grip is white-knuckled and taut as he snarls, “You cannot do anything, empress. The minute you use Imperial resources to help me, the witches will know.” He lets go and pushes her away. “You’re a public figure. Both Parliament and the Abbey will be watching you. You’re not some masked ghost pretending to be dead anymore. You’re an _empress_ with an entire empire watching every move you make.”

Jessamine blinks. Silence settles over them, and the only sound is the distant wind leaping across Dunwall in wide swathes of billowing air. The scent of petrichor and roses is already faded and nearly gone, but the surge of irritation makes her Mark react. The floral, earthy scent intensifies around her as she murmurs, “Oh, we’ll see about that, Daud. We shall see about that.”

“Don’t get in my way,” he says brusquely. He turns and focuses on rearranging his papers in the right way.

Jessamine arches an eyebrow. “I don’t plan to get in your way or impede your investigation,” she says as she slots herself in the space between Daud and his desk. She raises her chin and musters up all of her regal authority, matching the intensity of Daud’s glare. “I intend to _accelerate_ it.”

“You’ll be in the way,” he retorts.  
Jessamine blinks owlishly before saying, “I doubt it.”

Daud raises his hands up with angry frustration. “Oh, what delusion are you dreaming up now, woman?” he spits. Now, it’s his turn to pace. The heels of his boots grind into the floorboard as he snaps, “You can’t help, and I’ve already told you why. Do you think you can cut down this cult with just a wave of your hand? Being that black-eyed bastard’s favorite means _nothing_ to them, to that cult, to De—” He cuts himself off, fury and something else still sputtering like dying sparks in his eyes.

Jessamine exhales before she snaps her fingers and suspends time. The only people left moving in the world is her and Daud. “Try me,” she says lowly, her tone cracking with the bittersweet vengeance that once fueled her.

Daud swipes his own Marked hand to dismiss the time suspension, and he grumbles, “Go ahead and try, empress. On your head be the consequences.”

Jessamine gives Daud one final glare before she blinks out of his window and disappears into the night. She leaves behind the scent of rain and roses, and Daud stares at the space where the empress used to be. He lets out a loud groan and slams his palm down on his desk. “Damn you, Delilah Copperspoon,” he swears.

He pushes away from his desk and slams his window shut. The scent of petrichor fades as he lays out his papers exactly where they used to be. Then, he reaches over to grab a tin full of tacks and paces over to a large map of Dunwall pasted to the opposite side of his wall. The Estate District, Dunwall Tower, Slaughterhouse Row, Draper’s Ward, Kaldwin’s Bridge. All of these are drawn out on the yellowing paper with minute detail, and Daud narrows his eyes on a certain district. He pins down thumbtacks in a seemingly erratic fashion across the map before he takes a step back to look at what he wrought.

Daud can feel the oil-black gaze of the Outsider boring into the back of his neck. His Mark flickers in response, and Daud lets out a sour, sullen laugh in the space of their silence.

The only response is the mournful call of a distant whale.

**Author's Note:**

> mmm yeah, like i said, i personally don't think jessamine would ever hire daud after what he did. but you know what? this was fun to write. i don't really know where to go with this, so i'm just leaving it as it is. thank you for reading!


End file.
